


Be Brave, Be Mine

by Trish47



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Snark, Swords & Sorcery, Virgin Sacrifice, splinters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trish47/pseuds/Trish47
Summary: Certain she'll be selected as this year's sacrifice to the legendary dragon lurking in Skywalker Castle, Rey dedicates herself to training for the fight of her life. When a handsome stranger offers to help her, Rey isn't sure what to make of him.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63
Collections: Reylo Moodboard Inspiration





	Be Brave, Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impossiblefangirl0632](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impossiblefangirl0632/gifts).



> Written for the Writing Den's moodboard exchange. [PG-13 Reylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impossiblefangirl0632/pseuds/Impossiblefangirl0632) made a great moodboard to work with, and I enjoyed this dip in the more historical/fantasy side of things.

__

_Thwack. Thwack. Thwack._

One after another, her arrows embedded into oak scant millimeters apart. Practicing at dawn and dusk had been a chore on top of her daily work, but Rey had to prepare. Selection would take place on the Spring Equinox, and her card was more likely than most to be pulled. She had no family to beg for her well-being, no means to bribe her way out, and no man to attest to her _unworthiness_ as a virginal sacrifice.

Not that she hadn’t had offers on the last point. Gray and balding men of varying social status had assured her of their eagerness to help. They made disgusting, degrading proposals Rey wouldn’t consider. She’d face an army of ten dragons’ teeth before submitting herself to one lecher’s touch.

Woven quiver exhausted of arrows, Rey readied herself for her next round of practice. She reached for her waist and pulled a wooden sword -- whittled to a mean point by her own hands -- from the leather band holding her tunic in place. While she’d done her best to mimic the size, length, and shape of a claymore, Rey’s makeshift weapon was like holding a broom in her hands. A sad excuse for the real thing.

From above, a voice agreed with her: “A rapier would better suit your size.”

Rey whirled back to the tree she used as a target, though it wasn’t panic that drove her heart into her throat. Anger seized her. Another blatant intrusion of her privacy. For as long as she’d been sneaking into the woods before the village woke to hone her skills, the stranger had been gifting her with his intense stare and critiques. It didn’t seem to matter to him that his observations were unwelcome.

“I told you to stop watching me,” Rey groused.

A disembodied tutting preceded the appearance of a pair of long, muscular legs. They alighted on a broader section of the oak’s flared trunk, then eased into a crouch until his whole body came to a languid repose in the sloped branches. For being the size of a bear, the man moved with the elegance and certainty of a cat.

His grin made her wonder if he had pointed teeth too.

“Your footwork’s improved. You’re fast,” he remarked, “but speed won’t do you much good if you plan on fighting off the dragon with that toothpick.”

Rey ignored him and turned away. Adjusting her grip, she made several sweeping motions with her weapon. As her imagined foe retreated, Rey ran forward several meters and jumped, raising her arms above her head at peak height. With a roar, she plunged the sword into the ground in a simulated killing blow.

With a snap, her practice sword split under the weight behind her stroke. Rey dropped the broken weapon, but not before a thin sliver of wood lodged in her palm. She clutched her fist close to her chest as she regulated her breathing, beyond frustrated. How could she train without a real weapon and hope to be ready to face off against a mammoth dragon?

As she turned to retrieve the arrows from the tree, she met with a solid wall of warmth covered by soft fabric. “Oof,” she said after the unexpected collision. Shuffling back, she pointed an accusatory finger at the offending chest. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

His laugh rumbled at this proximity, a detail she never needed to learn. Nor did she need to know his smell: earthy like ore with the subtle tang of musk. Though he didn’t appear to have a spot of soot on him, Rey wondered if he was a blacksmith from the village on the other side of these woods.

The thought went out of mind almost immediately, as the stranger caught her around the wrist and pulled her closer. Smooth and soft and uncalloused -- these were not the hands of a man accustomed to labor; Rey’s skin must feel scuffed and dry in his grasp. How embarrassing.

Not that she wanted this man to see her as delicate or, heaven forbid, _feminine_.

“Stop wriggling.”

“Let go,” she said at the same time.

One dark brow rose as he watched her nostrils flare. “Are you always so untrusting?”

“Are you always so irritating?” Rey attempted to withdraw her hand, but his grip was secure and unyielding.

Her grunt produced a smile -- one that made his already pleasing features all the more handsome. “The longer you resist, the longer I get to hold your hand. Let me see.” Using the gentlest pressure, his fingers persuaded her fist to unfurl. A thin line of blood marked the location of her splinter. “Seems your toothpick pricks after all.”

Again, her temper flared. “Enjoy mocking me while you can. I’ll be stuck between a dragon’s teeth this time next week.”

“I can see why a beast would want you for his dinner.”

Heat from her anger flashed into something hotter along the back of her neck. The stress of the impending Selection must be scrambling her brain, to entertain the forwardness of his tone. Perhaps he was no better than the other men who had offered to “help” her with her intimate problem. Unlike the others, though, she wondered if she’d entertain an indecent proposal from him.

Rey’s head swiveled away, hiding at least one of her red cheeks. She could explain the other away as exertion. “You jest,” she murmured, attempting once more to extricate her hand. Her tug was half-hearted at best.

“Have I ever lied for the sake of your pride?” Not waiting for her response, he lowered his head to her hand and closed his lips over the puncture. Rey gasped, startled by the wet warmth. Her fingers curled instinctively, cupping the side of his face as he began to suck at the buried sliver, now and then using his tongue to flick the piece of wood and persuade it to loosen from her flesh.

Removing the splinter would have taken a matter of seconds using her nails to pinch it free or the tip of a knife to dig it out. Rey couldn’t say why she allowed the dark-haired man to spend minutes working it free with his unconventional -- entirely unnecessary, inordinately sensual -- method. But here she stood, transfixed as he sucked and nipped at the trivial injury.

One thought circled through her mind: if his mouth felt so incredible on her hand, where else might it feel as wonderful?

Dark eyes met hers just as her tongue wet her lips. They parted, as if ready to invite him to explore. She’d never been kissed. Other maids her age often snuck away to the barns when their parents weren’t looking only to emerge with mysterious smiles and small bruises on their necks or chests. It had always baffled her, the waste of time. Daylight meant working for food and supplies; her evenings were spent with a candle and a book or a scavenged piece of metal she’d shine and shape into jewelry to peddle to the wealthier villagers. Spending hours with a man in a haystack held no appeal.

Or so she’d always thought. The man in front of her was making her rethink things. What would a kiss from him be like? Would he be as diligent as he was in attending her wound? It would be a shame to never find out.

Rey shivered when his teeth scraped up the edge of her hand and clamped down. Drawing his head away, he flashed her a wide grin, the tiny stick wedged between his teeth. No fangs existed that she could see.

“Tasty,” he stated after plucking the splinter away, inspecting it, and tossing it to the ground. “Just as I thought you’d be.”

Rey rolled her eyes. “Good, then I won’t need to salt and pepper my hair for the dragon’s taste buds.”

Still holding her hand, he rummaged in the pocket of his breeches. “What makes you so certain you’ll be chosen?”

Rey shrugged. “Call it intuition.”

There was no reason to tell him she was a nobody who would only be missed by Plutt when it came time for her quarterly taxes. What better sacrifice could they have this year than an orphaned girl? Who would weep for her when she rode off to the dragon’s castle -- a lair he’d claimed ten years ago from the reigning Skywalker monarch -- to meet her fate? Without a suitable offering, the dragon would raze their village. As one spurned man -- the director of the village grain silos -- had summarized: “Your greatest contribution to our society shall be your death. Take pride.”

The only thing she’d taken pride in was setting his flock of sheep free after their encounter. It had taken days for them to be rounded up again.

“Are we done here?” Rey asked.

“In a rush?”

He withdrew a white cotton handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around her hand, carefully tying a knot and tucking the loose ends beneath the band before releasing her. Embroidered on the edge in a delicate blue thread were two initials: B-S. Had his mother stitched these letters? His sister? His wife?

The mysterious man -- Bryce? Branson? Benjamin? Bradley? -- wasn’t done prying into her future: “You truly plan to fight?”

Rey huffed and brushed past him, returning to the task of dislodging her arrows. “I suppose you think what I’m doing is child’s play.” She wiggled the last tip free of the oak and clutched the arrows in her hand. When she turned back to him, she squared her shoulders and puffed out her chest. “I may not be a soldier. I may not have the skills of a warrior. But I won’t faint and fall limp into the monster’s open maw. I won’t greet death as if he’s a gentleman.”

The stranger stared at her. His dark eyes drew a line from her head to her boots and back again, as if assessing her. It wasn’t a totally unfamiliar look; he’d watched her for weeks from the branches. But after having him so close and experiencing his touch, Rey felt more aware of the way his eyes lingered than ever.

What did he see? A frightened girl or a proud young woman ready to battle to her last breath though survival was a far-flung hope?

He strode forward and closed much of the distance between them, circling around her to continue his scrutiny. Rey’s chest rose and fell. She tried not to feel self-conscious under his gaze. Finally, when she couldn’t take it any longer, she stamped her foot in the dirt. “Well?”

He stopped moving and drew up to his full height, forcing Rey to tip her head back to see his face. His earthy, almost metallic, scent wafted over her again. It made her want to bury her nose in his cowl and breathe deep.

His expression indicated a mix of pleasure and fascination. When his eyes fell to her mouth and traced its gentle slopes and curves, Rey was certain he would kiss her. More surprising: she wanted him to.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said instead, breath fanning over her lips. “Come with me.”

Rey crossed her arms over her chest to hide her disappointment. She took a step back to help clear her mind and process his command. Did this man really think she was going to follow him into the woods? It wasn’t her reputation that concerned her, or even a sense of safety. Simply put, she resisted the idea of following any type of order, especially from a man who had been coaching her from the trees, unasked, for the past month or more.

The man whose eyes had promised a kiss but whose lips hadn’t followed through.

“No.”

Already walking away, he paused to glance over his shoulder, heaved a sigh, and continued on without speaking. In a moment, he disappeared into the morning mist.

It took all of three seconds for Rey’s curiosity to get the best of her. What did she really have to lose by going after him? Trotting forward, she found herself engulfed in fog coming off the nearby lake. Lack of visibility quickly brought her to a halt. Where had he gone? Which direction should she take to find him?

“I’ve changed my mind!” she called, resting her hands on her hips. “You can come back now!”

The silence that followed her shout made tiny bumps appear on her arms. It was heavy, oppressively so. She’d never been claustrophobic, but Rey found it difficult to breathe in the humid atmosphere that seemed to press in closer and closer. Her gut clenched, uneasy.

Deciding the man was stringing her along after all, Rey pivoted with the intent of finding her way back to the old oak and her training supplies, only the fog had covered the path behind her. Any way she turned, she could see no farther than the length of her arm. Even her boots were obscured by the opaque mist blanketing the ground.

The eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach began to filter into her esophagus, slowly climbing up her throat. _There’s no reason to be afraid,_ she told herself. _You can get out of here._

Staying in the fog until it passed wasn’t ideal. While she didn’t grow up believing in tales of ghouls or wicked spirits, there were plenty of natural ways to meet one’s demise deep in the woods: bogs, drifters, predators. Without any sort of weapon, she would be at a sizeable disadvantage if she encountered anything or anyone harboring ill intent.

She had to move. If she kept walking in one direction, she’d eventually find a way out, right? Setting her shoulders, Rey turned again and promptly crashed into something hard. And warm.

“Not again!” she exclaimed, hitting his wide chest with the sides of her fists as a vent for her frustration. And to conceal the tremble in her arms. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Did I frighten you?” He sounded almost chuffed.

She glared at him.

“So I did,” he confirmed for himself in a softer voice. Reaching out, he curled a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his hand caress her jaw before falling away. The tenderness of his touch soothed her anger.

“I’m not scared of you,” she muttered, giving in to her urge to lean her forehead against his chest. She’d spent a lifetime holding herself up; for just this moment, it might be nice to borrow someone else’s strength. Her fingers gripped the front of his tunic as she whispered what she hated to admit. “But I am scared. The Selection, the dragon -- all of it. I’m scared of what it could take from me.”

Strong arms wrapped around her, reminding Rey once again of a bear, minus all the fur. Accepted, she pressed fully against him to indulge her vulnerability. Within his embrace, she felt no harm would reach her.

“A person fearing for her life is only natural,” he told her as he rubbed his palm in a broad circle over her back.

Rey maneuvered her arms to wrap around his waist and rested her ear against his chest. Beneath the cotton tunic, she could hear his steady heartbeat. She couldn’t fathom why the sound brought tears to her eyes.

“I’m not some nameless person. I’m Rey.” Her voice shook as she looked up at him. Her question came out as if it were a last request: “Will you remember that? My name? Me?”

One of his hands came forward to swipe away trails of water from her cheeks. “All my life.” His lips pressed to her brow, as supple and warm as she imagined they would be. For a long moment, he eased the creases of her worry, then pulled away to regard her. “But, Rey, this isn’t the end. I’m going to make sure of that.”

She could have asked him _how_ he planned to do that -- all reports claimed the dragon was a fierce red and black monster that snacked on horses and swallowed sheep in one bite -- but a more pressing question sat at the forefront of her thoughts.

“Why?”

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he moved to stand next to her, folding her arm within his own, and began to walk through the fog at a brisk, determined pace. It was as if he knew exactly where he was going. Rey didn’t resist being led away, waiting for his answer.

Finally, he broke his silence. “I was in the pasture, resting after lunch, when you released the flock.”

Her step faltered, but the man caught her without breaking stride, forcing Rey to continue. She’d been accused of setting the director’s sheep free, but no witnesses had come forward to condemn her. Without evidence, she’d been released without consequence. Learning someone had seen her commit the petty crime _and_ ignored the reward for information left her shocked.

The man continued to recount the incident. “You didn’t simply leave the gate unlatched. You wanted to make sure every sheep was set loose.” He covered the hand on his forearm with his and grinned. “I’d never seen a person act like a herding dog before.”

Rey’s eyes widened before she had to break her gaze away from his, embarrassed. Her quiet denial slipped from her lips: “No.”

“Oh, yes.” He tried to restrain his laughter and failed. “Your bark was very convincing.”

“So you’re helping me because you think I’ve lost all sense.”

He stopped, causing mist to lift and swirl around them. With the edge of his finger, he tipped up her chin. “No. You made me smile that day. Truly smile. I hadn’t felt joy like that in a decade.”

Though Rey’s lips quirked upward, she still didn’t understand his motivation. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re choosing to help me.”

“Because I want to be the reason you smile some day.”

Things inside her twisted and swelled and fluttered in delighted, tormented confusion. He wanted to make her smile? Any attempt to pick apart her emotions would have resulted in a tighter, more complicated knot. Thankfully -- regretfully? -- she had no time to stammer and cobble together words in reply.

The mist had cleared enough to reveal an outcropping on the edge of the lake. Several large stones rested on top of one another; if looked at from a certain perspective, it resembled a set of steep stairs. At the top, something glinted despite the lack of sun.

“Your toothpick is kindling,” he explained, nudging her in the outcropping’s direction. “A real weapon is what you need.”

The reflective surface she’d seen was a yellow jewel inlaid in the hilt of a sword, a claymore as beautiful as she could have ever dreamed to behold. Still, she hesitated. Swords in stones were mired in place by any number of stipulations. Everybody knew that. Maybe she had to be pure of heart. Maybe she had to secretly be a queen. Maybe she had to open herself to darkness.

“Go. Take it,” he encouraged. “Claim what is yours.”

Taking a deep breath, Rey ascended the makeshift stairs, balancing carefully at the top and approaching the weapon. For as long as the sword had likely weathered the elements, it was in pristine condition. Even more jewels were embedded in the hilt and slanted hand guards. She wrapped her hands around it and braced her weight on her knees, then pulled with all her might.

The sword slid free so easily she nearly toppled backward. Rocking forward again, she laughed at her success, readjusting her grip and swinging the claymore above her head in victory. Beaming, she gazed down through the dissipating mist to seek the man who’d believed in her. He’d see her smile now.

Except he’d vanished.


End file.
